Friday Thoughts

Osprey photographed on the day it returned in April 2011.

Every night after eating supper and watching the news, I go outside. Normally, I walk two paths: to the chicken coop to shut the doors for the night, and to the six bird feeders hanging in the trees just in front of our house.

But for some reason, last night I decided to go for a wander around the yard.

We have a large yard but I don’t often just wander around, listening and looking; usually, I’m intent on going to some specific spot to fulfill a specific errand. Last night, however, I was curious if anything was growing on the other side of the ditch where my husband built “the mound” – the place where my father’s ashes are buried. Nothing is popping out of the little garden but I rush away.

“Hi, Dad,” I said, then took a good look at the Colorado Blue Spruce he’s interred under; it’s got a nice shape. Then I looked at the other spruce trees we planted around. All the trees are growing nicely since we planted them eleven years ago.

I looked up at the osprey nest, much of it beaten away by the wind and likely now abandoned; the influx of eagles to our part of the river has made this area inhospitable to the ospreys.

I looked at our own nest, our big red house. Lots of room for three people (and their cats and dog) during a quaratine; my own writing space where I am warm and safe and creative.

I looked up at the sky. Sea gulls were soaring high, above the river but beneath the clouds that suggested some place around us was receiving precipitation.

The white bellies of the gulls caught the light from the setting sun. Flashes of white as they turned on the air currents. Part of me wished for a moment the darker winged gulls were really ospreys, but no, it’s better if they find somewhere else to live. I’d rather have my heart broken by their abandonment rather then their deaths at the hands of people and the claws of eagles.

Not sure how I feel about being ‘eagle people’ rather than ‘osprey people’. It will take some getting used to.

What I want to tell you was how happy this aimless wander made me feel. To be in my big country yard, walking around the familiar space, looking and listening but not for anything specific. Just seeing and hearing whatever came along.

Sea gulls in the sky.

Blackbirds at dusk.

Breeze through the pine trees.

Clouds over the hills, and rain in the distance.

An immature eagle flying through it all.

Oy. Because eagles. This is their show now.

The young’un flew right over the road and above our property, as if checking out the osprey nest. Looking to see if they’ve arrived? Looking to see if it’s available?

Nature is brutal and beautiful, but never broken, not like humanity. It is what it is, surviving and thriving. It knows what is essential. A simple existence.

I still wonder, as I wander, if the birds and the bees and the animals are wondering why the humans are staying in their burrows these days, why they have left the skies and the waters.

Wait, I was telling you how happy I was, to be in this wide open space, with the field and the woods, to be breathing in the cool evening air, to feel the last of the sunshine as it dropped below the bare trees on the far side of our property.

It’s not that I want to forget there is a pandemic, that the shutdown has plunged millions of people into financial distress, that the death tolls continue to rise, that even in my own home, we are at risk of debilitating illness if someone contracts the virus.

But in this time after supper and after the news, I am allowed to be happy. To be grateful. To be reminded of the wisdom of nature – the cycles of life that give and take. To remember what is essential – air and breath, earth and food, river and water, sun and fire. The elemental essentials that give us food, shelter, medicine and clothing.

Every night after eating supper, after watching the news, I go outside, and I walk familiar paths as I do my chores. Sometimes, I stop and look around, remember who we are and what matters, and why we are here – and I am happy to spend a moment watching the birds, who are untouchable in their freedom.